He thought of the commotion it would cause in the neighborhood of his home to have her call for him there.
"Could I possibly meet you at Seventh and Broadway?" he asked, fearing that such a request might be considered extraordinary.
"Seventh and Broadway at two, then," she said.
A liveried chauffeur was at the wheel of the big touring car in which she met him. It frightened him somewhat to think that such wealth was hers. Curiously, he was relieved when she said:
"A friend is so kind as to place this car at my disposal every Sunday, so I may make my week-end visits home in comfort."
Instinctively John felt that it was Gibson's machine.
As the automobile glided through the city traffic and out to the smooth boulevards of the open country they spoke of Gibson's mysterious absence during the past few days.
"He told me that business, something very important, called him away," she said. "He promised he would be back some time this week. I suppose whatever has taken him away has to do with his work as a commissioner."
She wore the same quaintly beautiful white frock that John had so admired when he first saw her at the lawn fete at the Barton Randolph home. He saw that her eyes and hair were brown, her lips a coral red, her skin faintly tinted olive. Her features were small and delicately formed. Her feet were positively tiny and he marveled at the natural curve of the high instep.
"Tell me," she said, "what do people think of Mr. Gibson as a commissioner?"